Our Lightest Touch
by Amoe Chan
Summary: AU.L can see ghosts, and isn't happy about it. Who would be if they bother you all the time? When he was told he could make them disappear by touching the "light" of his life, L didn't think this "light" is a boy named Light, one with a bitchy attitude, no less. When Light refuses to cooperate, L felt challenged. But no matter, a challenge is what L likes, and what L likes, L gets.


**This is my first fanfic for the Death Note fandom, particularly the LawLight or LxLight(not the other way around) pairing. **

**This isn't perfect. Errors might be seen throughout the fic. However, I hope you enjoy this. :)**

**The plot idea was originally from the Korean Drama, The Master's Sun. Rest assured, I didn't copy how the story unfold. I only borrowed the basic premise.**

**And since the Death Note fandom mostly contain fanfics with dark and serious element, I think I should say that this fic shouldn't be taken seriously. I can't do angst. I can't do dark. I can't do tear-jerkers. And most of all, I can't make your heart cry in damnable agony. (Excuse me for that.) So please, if you're going to flame me because this story is ridiculous, don't forget that I warned you. :)**

**Warnings: Will contain smut in the future. Possible OOC. Cussing.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Death Note and Master's Sun. I'm not awesome. **

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_**CHAPTER 1**_

* * *

_ ~When our worlds collide, chaos would ensue~ _

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L was never fond of fairytales.

Originals were downright disturbing; while Disney's mellow versions were excruciatingly cliché and stupid. Though, times existed when L couldn't help but compare his life with Sleeping Beauty's.

The distressed princess was a blessing to her Kingdom, as he was a blessing to the world.

She was gifted with breathtaking beauty and alluring voice, while he, by no means, was gorgeous or singer material, his genius-level intelligence and impeccable deductive skills made up for it though, and dare he say it was a billion times better than hers.

But just like the damned princess, L was also cursed.

No, he wasn't destined to die from the prick of a needle. However, his curse was damnably related to death, or should he say, the _dead, or spirit, or ghosts_, or anything else people called _them_. If **God** do exist, then **He **was his very own version of Maleficent –a powerful being who casted spell upon him in the modern form of genetic code.

Needless to say, he didn't die on his sixteenth birthday. However, he started seeing the dead from the early age of six.

His past was bleary, frustratingly so. With his limitless memory, one would think he would remember most of his childhood. However, it wasn't the case for him. He doesn't remember his parent's faces, not that he wished to. But, he remembered them telling him the _way _to break his curse.

For one, he didn't need the kiss from Prince Phillip's lips, rather, he only needed to touch his very own destined partner. Will his cure be a princess under the name of Philomena then? _That_, he didn't know _for_ he was yet to find this person. And if his disinclination towards physical contact stayed, he would probably stay cursed forever.

Whenever the word '_cursed'_ came out of L's lips, Wammy would shake his head in disapproval. From the moment they met each other, the elderly man always told him he was gifted, and by no means, cursed.

However, in L's mind, Wammy just didn't have _any_ idea how hard it was to see the dead.

Don't take him wrong, he was never scared of them. Nevertheless, L wasn't so enthusiastic to see _their _presence. He had always valued his privacy. The ghosts just didn't understand that, and intentionally appear before him unannounced, which was the case _all_ the time.

Perhaps, it was his purpose in life. It was _way_ too coincidental for him to be a genius _and_ a psychic at the same time, especially when the _said_ dead would ask for his help (more like gesture, simply because the dead has no voice to speak) at first sight, which was always about serving them justice, nonetheless.

But dead _or_ alive, men _and_ women of all ages were viewed the same in his depthless obsidian eyes. To him, they were _all _annoying. He enjoyed serving justice. It gave him bliss to be awed in his art, so much more when he was dubbed the _greatest_ in the world. However, he _never_ enjoyed taking cases unworthy of his interest.

If it were the living (may it be a powerful and/or a wealthy man), he would refuse the case that_ didn't_ quite pique his interest. However, the dead's requests were a different case, _for they _never accept _no_ for an answer.

If there was ever a chance, L acted like a fool and told them no. He surely would _feel _like crying (keyword, feel, because L never cries) _for _the wasted life of his most beloved precious sweets. He remembered it all too well. The way _they _held his cake hostage up in the air, and when his refusal came, L watched hopelessly as his beloved confectionery splat on the floor _like_ some dead body, drowning in its own pool of blood.

It was one painful memory to remember, it would be better if he _moved _on from that.

"L," a voice he knew too well came from behind him. "Have you already finished the Missing Blonde Teens case?" The tone wasn't incredulous, it was just downright inquiring.

L nodded. The reply he usually gave his friend and right-hand man, Wammy.

The elder man wasn't so surprised. However, he was amazed. If it wouldn't be so out of himself, he would've said _L_ how impressed he was _on_ how it only took him eight hours to solve the case that'd been puzzling North America for three months now.

Wammy took the cake from the trolley he brought with him, placing the expensive china plate at the table in front of the detective.

L didn't give the cake much of a glance, rather, his hand automatically grabbed for the spoon, plunging it straight to the cake and taking a hearty bite on the confectionery. After his first bite of the cake went down his stomach, he swivelled his chair to face Wammy.

And with an inquiring brow, Wammy waited.

"Please, do give my client cake and tea." To that, he went back to face the screen of his computer.

Without any words, Wammy did as he was told, already deciphering that a _ghost _was nearby, particularly sitting on the empty chair beside the detective.

"And, please prepare our flight to Japan."

"Japan?" His hearing wasn't bad despite his age. However, he _asked_ in great need to hear the details _as _to why they suddenly have to go to the east.

Other than simply saying his need to solve a case in Japan, L decided to went ahead and state the details of his new case. "Seven years ago, eight middle school girls were reported missing in Nagoya. Each has no personal connection with each other. However, each one of them shared similarities in appearance and age. Also, their disappearance dated on the same month of May, year 2008."

Wammy furrowed his brows, deducing. "…Are you insinuating that these children didn't simply disappear, rather, they were kidnapped?"

"Most likely, yes." L said in between chews. "And, I got a witness to second my thoughts." He continued, glancing slightly on his right.

With an unreadable expression, Wammy said, "I see," thinking the missing children were dead, if the 'witness' L had was already dead itself.

"The case, however, was already forgotten, seeing as they made no progress on it, and no more mysterious disappearances occurred after the eighth…_victim_." He branded _for _he was sure as hell the children were abducted and simply _not_ missing. "I need you to inform Japan's police force about my plan to solve this case."

And the schedule was already laid in the elderly man's mind, planning to start packing and contacting the NPA as soon as he was dismissed.

And, dismissed he was told, Wammy left without much of a word, making his way straight to prepare for the trip.

L, on the other hand, finished his cake, eyes still focused on his computer screen. Eight profiles met his focus, each of them showing pictures of almost identical faces. Provided, they were Japanese, sharing similarities wouldn't be rare, however, large brown doe-eyes, pointed nose, close-to-tanned complexion, and (which he believed to be) natural brown hair were different from the usual slanted eyes, round nose, pale skin and black hair that the Japanese usually have. And the uncanny similarity with age, height and weight, made him think it wasn't coincidental, especially when their disappearance occurred consecutively in _just _one month; within the same area, no less.

Were they kidnapped to be sold? _That_, he didn't know. But as he glanced at the ghost beside him, something told him that _these_ children were inevitably dead by now. Why they were taken before they were killed _was _something he couldn't answer yet. Unless, the ghost beside him magically spoke a word other than pointing her fingers on his computer screen to answer his inquiries.

Seriously, L couldn't understand why ghosts refused to write the name of the perpetrators and the reason why they were killed _other_ than leaving him in a loop of questions. It would make things easier.

But then again, L should be thankful. At least, the ghosts were giving him a challenge. _If _only, all the cases they requested _were_ as interesting as _this_.

"Will you tell me who _you_ are of these eight children?" He asked. No, he wasn't asking _for _small talk. He genuinely couldn't pinpoint which one of these children is his client _for _the little ghost was bloated beyond comprehension. Most likely, L believed she died of drowning.

But, the ghost only shook her head.

L should've taken that as an answer to his question, but a voice in the back of his intellectual mind told him _she _was answering for another question –a question he was yet to ask, a question he was yet to think of.

"Very well."

His hand absentmindedly went to grab his spoon, plunging it on the cake, which he realized was already gone.

"_Oh…" _He thought, realizing he already finished it. He glanced at the cake of his _supposed _client, salivating upon seeing its divine goodness.

"Are you going to eat that?"

Stupid question, he knew. It's not like ghosts still had their digestive system nor the appetite to digest and taste food. But why did he ask Wammy to serve her cakes then? Well, he was just trying to be a good host...providing snacks seemed to be the norm for _normal_ people.

And not waiting for an answer, his pale hand grabbed hold of the china plate; his metal spoon ruined the shape of the nicely-cut cake, putting crescents in its triangular form.

* * *

**_In Japan..._**

* * *

"Thank you for the purchase. Please, come again." He finished with his signature dazzling smile, a sure way to win the hearts of those easily fooled.

With pink cheeks and meek smile, the customer returned the gesture. "Thanks," leaving right after, but not without glancing his way as she pulled the door and went outside.

Light sighed. Tiredness suddenly became prominent upon his features. It was nine in the evening and he was _yet_ to be out of work for another hour.

"Good evening."

He etched another smile, masking his weariness in completely convincing expression. As he scanned barcodes of their customer's chosen goods, his phone buzzed inside his pocket.

"That'll be 2314 yen."

He grabbed bills handed to him, packaging the goods right away, completely forgetting the text from his phone.

The same job went on for an hour, and he had to stay for another hour because his darn manager made him stall three boxes of canned sardines.

"_That fat bastard…he wouldn't even pay me for that extra damn hour." _He thought scornfully, sighing deeply as he tried to think of silver lining against the stormy clouds. _"At least, he wasn't a pervert like my last boss was…" _He suddenly felt his hair stick on ends, and immediately thought of how he punched that disgusting pig, causing him to lose his former job, not that it mattered to him honestly, it had been greatly satisfying to leave that pervert blotched and bruised.

Another buzz of his phone occurred in his pocket. "Oh…right!" He went to check his phone, seeing his sister's number flashing on his screen. He answered the call and immediately greeted by a giddy voice.

"Brother!"

"Hey, Sayu."

"You didn't reply to my text!"

Light suppressed a sigh. He was tired and seemed to forget things quite fast (except academic matters, those were forever engraved in his mind) these days.

"Sorry..I was busy at the store earlier."

"It's okay…" Sayu's tone turned solemn, sensing his brother's weariness. "Are you at the dorm already?"

Light planned to lie, about to say he was at home and currently chilling. But, loud wails from a passing ambulance were picked up by his phone's receiver, beating him to it.

"Wait, you're still out!? It's past eleven! Shouldn't you be at the dorm already?"

Great…now his sister turned mother, Light grumbled. "Yeah..but I just _had_ to help restocking before leaving so…"

"Help? Or stalled by your boss?"

"Same thing."

"No, it's not!"

"Alright, alright." Light chuckled before changing their topic. "How was school?"

Sayu turned giddy once again. Light was still amazed on how much of an emotional roller coaster his sister was; from giddy to solemn to downright angry, then back to being giddy again. She's quite unpredictable.

"–and we went to eat some takoyaki! It was delicious. Mr. Aizawa said that he'll buy some when you visit me next week, so you can taste it as well!" She went on.

Light smiled. Mr. Aizawa was a blessing to them. Granted, at first, he hated the man _for _he seemed to contemptuously dislike his presence. But remember when they said that those who seemed to resent you, always took you by surprise? Aizawa was just that.

When his father and mother died two years ago, Mr. Aizawa was the only one who stepped in and took the responsibility to take care of him and his sister. A man who wasn't related to them in blood, volunteered to give them a home.

That, in itself, was a blessing.

However, Light was eighteen at that time, and refused to be under his wing. He didn't feel like burdening the man anymore than it is. So, he asked Mr. Aizawa to adopt Sayu instead, denouncing his rights _for _the small inheritance left by their parents to them.

Light believed he was already capable to support himself, and Sayu needed the financial support _more for _she still got several years to spend in school than him. Besides, he didn't wish to put all the responsibility of paying her sister's school fees to Aizawa, who has his own family to feed.

"Have you been eating well, brother?"

"_Ah…" _Light suddenly felt his stomach churn in hunger. "Of course." He lied, not wanting to worry his sister any further. "I'm a working student. I need the nutrients. Don't skip yours, or else you won't have enough brainpower to solve math problems."

"Har, har. Fine, Mr. I-know-it-all." Sayu sarcastically said and Light could already imagine his sister crossing her arms with a long pout. "Or, you could just visit me frequently and help me solve them."

"You're a big girl." Light said as he entered a dimly-lit passageway. "You can study it yourself."

"Argh, no, duh. It's too difficult."

"You complain too much." Light said, walking out of the small alley to trudged the traffic-less road.

"Hmph, you just wouldn't know the pain of being _normal_."

One of his graceful brows shot up. "I _am_ normal."

"Pfft."

"Hey!" Light chuckled, some of his tiredness ebbing away. "I was ––" He stopped, looking up at the starless sky and winced when water pelted on his face. "Shit, it's raining."

"Oh? Did you bring an umbrella?"

"Uh…" Light tucked his phone in between his ear and shoulder, rummaging through his bag for the folding umbrella. "Shit, I didn't."

"You didn't!? You forget things frequently now. This is _so _not _you._"

"Look––I'm hanging up the phone and make a run for it. I'll call you tomorrow night, okay?" He said, raising his bag atop his head, silently cursing as the rain started to drop heavier. Getting sick these days was a price he couldn't afford when he has fees to worry about.

"Okay…good night, Brother. Be careful on your way.."

Light chanced a smile, "Good night, Sayu," before dropping the call, and made a run for it. With his long, slender legs, he ran with bag atop his head, which was supported by his arms, shielding his locks from getting wet, but not quite saving the rest of him.

He already felt like freezing. Nights had been cold these days, and having clothes soaking wet would surely give one cold. Judging his deprivation of sleep and food, added with the stress he dealt from work, Light wasn't quite as healthy as he used to be, making him vulnerable to sickness.

"Ugh!" He uttered incoherently when his faux leather shoes stepped on a puddle.

Leather shoes were a pain to dry. Despite that, he still hoped it would be dry enough tomorrow for his classes. It sucked when he only got six hours at most to wait before he needed to wear them again.

"_Few more blocks…" _He thought. The rain dropped even more heavily, piercing the usual silence with its brisk pelting sounds. _"Damn news…they said it wouldn't rain tonight!" _ But cursing internally was all he could do.

He was in too deep, wanting to get home quick, that he forgot to keep a watchful eye on the road he was running to.

A **BEEP! ** from an approaching car alerted him as he blindly crossed the road, and Light thanked his _still-_athletic legs for being alert enough to jump back to safety.

"Are trying to kill yourself, you son of a bitch!?" shouted the driver, not stopping his car in the least bit.

"_The nerve…!" _Light growled at the retreating car. No one calls him a son-of-a-bitch, and no one calls his parents, a _bitch,_ and get away unscathed. But since the driver was speeding away, far from the reach of his maddened knuckles, all he could resort to do was to flip his middle finger at the speeding car.

"I hope you crash!" He shouted in addition. It may be quite immature and uncharacteristic of him, but he seriously couldn't give a fuck anymore. He was tired, cranky and ultimately in bitch mode. With obscured vision, he stepped to cross the road once more.

"Hua–...!"

He yowled in pain, feeling something crash on his legs, and he doubled over, banging his upper body against what he believed to be the hood of a car. And like a lifeless dummy, he rolled up the front and fell on the ground beside the _now _immobile car.

"…Ugh…" He uttered in explainable pain and numbness.

"_Why is this..happening to..me?"_

In the middle of his agony, he heard briskly sounds from the car and soon felt hands check his body, particularly his arms and head, and Light just allowed himself to be inspected.

"Are you feeling nauseated?"

Soft but concerned voice was what he heard. "…uhh.." He groaned once again, suddenly feeling tired. _"Damn it…I just wanted to get home…" _were his last thoughts before he fell unconscious on the wet ground.

"Young man?" Hands lightly shook his arms, followed by soft pats to the cheeks, actions Light wasn't aware of anymore _for _he was resting deep.

The sound of scrolling car window was barely heard against the strong pelting of rain.

"Watari!" The man on the passenger seat of the expensive limousine monotonously called. "Is he still alive?"

Watari searched for the boy's pulse point by his slim neck, feeling relieved when it was still there, beating normally. He faced his young master, giving him a slight nod. "However, I believe he incurred injuries and a broken arm."

He placed his thumb against his lower lip, contemplating what to do. He was already planning to call for an ambulance and leave right away, but…

"We can't leave him in this rain, Ryuzaki." The elderly man said, uselessly blocking the rain from pelting the young man's face and torso.

He guessed he couldn't make a run for it, not when Watari wouldn't leave the kid. What a waste of time. With unnoticeable sigh, Ryuzaki gave in. "Alright, we'll bring him." Though, he wondered if it was safe to move him.

Watari raised his brow, motioning to the young man sleeping listlessly on the ground. "I can't carry him." He was quite too old for heavy-lifting.

"…" And now, Ryuzaki sighed loudly, an action too rare for him. Grimly, he wore his worn tennis shoes, not wanting the rain from soaking his feet, which was quite stupid since he'll be soak anyway.

There's only one umbrella and apparently, the idiot who crossed the road was being protected by it despite being soaked already.

Fuck logic.

His disarrayed hair drooped down immediately upon meeting the rain. _"It's cold…" _He thought as he made his way straight to the lying man, having difficulty seeing his face. He crouched down, carefully hooking a hand under the man's clothed knees and neck, resembling the way grooms carry their brides.

He wouldn't say the boy was lightweight, but he wasn't too heavy either, which was _great_ _for _he had no wish to cause more damage to the passed-out-idiot by accidentally dropping him. Ryuzaki went straight to the passenger seat, leaning down, and carefully laid the boy on the confines of his fine-leather seat.

Watari was on their toll with umbrella in one hand and bag on the other.

Ryuzaki closed the door and circled the car to get to the front right side. However, when he was about to enter the seat beside the driver's (Watari's), the old man told him to accompany the boy behind.

With another audible sigh, Ryuzaki complied. He opened the passenger's door and went to sit on the side, his eyes watching the listless body on the seat he was occupying earlier, and noticed how the idiot's legs were taking up the whole space even when his knees were bent.

Ryuzaki removed his shoes, toes twiddling as he perched his feet up the chair. Absentmindedly, a thumb made its way on his lower lip, watching the boy intently, whose face was covered with damp and disheveled hazel hair, which made him wonder if its color was genuinely natural or artificial.

The car began to move and Ryuzaki knew they were on their way to a hospital.

He didn't wish to get sick, so Ryuzaki removed his soaking long-sleeved shirt, and dropped them on the floor, damping it in its wake.

A sudden stop of their car almost made Ryuzaki tip over his chair. Instinctively, he managed to set his foot down the floor and his arm pushed the _idiot's _body back, safely preventing the limp body from falling down the floor.

"I apologize." Watari called from the front, and Ryuzaki only nodded.

The car began to move again.

Silently, the detective watched the young man once more. Though, this time, the curiosity got the better of him, and his pale fingers moved to touch the locks, which looked invitingly soft. But as his skin made contact with the unconscious boy's skin, an inexplainable electrical-like sensation made its way from his fingertips, down to his spine and toes.

His eyes widened visibly, and focused on his _now _tingling hand.

"…"

It felt hot. His earlier cold, pale hand became warm in an instant as if it was dipped in a jar of mentholated chemical. His eyes went back to the sleeping boy. And this time, he went to touch the boy's face again, ignoring the same jolt of electricity from his fingertips which made his whole core tingle in bliss, and parted the locks that were softer than they looked.

And just when he thought he couldn't be any more bewildered. He was one-upped once more for a gasp escaped his throat the moment he saw his face.

"…I think," Ryuzaki uttered in English, his mouth alternating between opening and closing, like a fish taken out from the waters. "W-Watari…"

But when he got no reaction…

"…Wammy," he spoke louder. The fact that he called Watari by his real name was lost to him. However, it effectively took the elderly man's attention, who watched him through the front mirror of the car.

"What's wrong, L?" inquired the elderly man in English, thick of British accent.

L twisted to meet Wammy's eyes through the front mirror. With no expression in his obsidian eyes other than surprise, he continued, shell-shocked.

"I _THINK, _I FOUND HIM..!"

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**I know there might be a lot of questions going through your minds but I swear to explain things further in future chapters. I don't feel like dropping all the bombs in one go.**

**Thanks for reading. :)**


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